“And now these suits show up, walking around like they own the place. Maybe they do own the place, technically. But all I know is that these woods are bigger than they are. And so is the pond. And the sky don’t belong to nobody but the birds. So maybe just leave this place alone.” With that, Jerry nodded to Bill Andrews, turned, and stomped back to his office.
Bill Andrews shot a neutral look at the camera. “What’s his last name?” he asked us.
“Fern,” I said.
“Seriously?” said Bill Andrews.
“Yup,” said Risa. “One hundred percent. He’s the Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood programming coordinator.”
“All right, then.” Bill Andrews wrote his name and title down in a notebook he took out of his pocket. Several Birdscouts emerged from the boardwalk. “Pardon me,” he called to them before they headed down the path into the woods.
Risa and I watched him interview Karen. We couldn’t hear what she said, but it involved a lot of jumping up and down.
“Do you think this will help the cause?” I said.
“All publicity is good publicity, right?” said Risa.
I shrugged. A sweet smell wafted over the grass and from the air.
“It’s going to rain again soon,” I said. “Oh, that reminds me, I still have your sweatshirt.”
“That’s okay. I have tons. We get two every year from this place. I have at least four that still fit.”
“Okay. I kind of like it. It smells like you.”
Risa glanced over at me.
“I mean. Wait. Maybe that sounded weird? Not that I seek out clothing that smells like you. Of course you don’t smell bad. It reminds me of the woods. And your hair. Uh. Never mind.”
Stellar, Laurel. Fantastic, even. Get the microphone from Bill Andrews and have that shit recorded.
But Risa smiled. “I kinda like that you have it.”
“Oh. I like it, too. Having it. Wearing it is like having your arms around me.” Gratitude for the damp earth mixed with horror at what I was currently saying out loud. Without it under my feet, I would have ignited the forest floor with the heat coursing from my head to sneakers.
“I—” started Risa.
“No listen…,” I interrupted.
But then a commotion from Bill Andrews’s direction made Risa and I turn around. Deputy Mayor Ross had shown up with his own cameraperson.
“Hello, everyone!” said the deputy mayor, speaking into a mic and looking only into the camera. “It’s a great day for a nature walk. We at city hall are here to honor”—he glanced down at an index card in his hand—“bird count weekend!”
“Well, this is a first,” I said. “I don’t remember city hall caring about this before.”
“Seriously,” said Risa.
“That’s the mean man who kicked me out of his house!” said Karen to Bill Andrews.
“City hall,” said her mother. “We were in city hall.”
“We went to see papers for my project. But they wouldn’t let us see anything.” Karen glared at the deputy mayor.
Hell hath no fury like a seven-year-old, brother. Don’t even try to engage. But like the deputy mayor would heed my psychic warnings even if he could hear them.
“Honey, I’m sure that’s not true,” he said into his mic. “Even our youngest citizens are always welcome.”
“Liar!” yelled Karen. “You said I should leave!”
Karen’s mom grabbed the hood of her sweatshirt and gently tugged her away from the mic. I appreciated the hell out of that kid. Jerry would have to give her a special commendation on the Birdscout Wall of Fame.
Drizzle fell on Bill Andrews and Deputy Mayor Ross as they stood with their microphones. Bill Andrews offered his to Ross, who took it and spoke to him and his camera.
“This is important, this land. But more important is the whole community, and jobs, and education. The founders of this park loved Shunksville and wanted to see it thrive. Obviously we take the preservation of this particular legacy quite seriously. That’s why, if Shunksville becomes the home to the new combined school district, we will make sure to remember what stood here.”
“So, the school is going to go here, on this site?” said Bill Andrews into his own mic.
“That hasn’t yet been determined.”
The rain picked up. Droplets stuck to my eyelashes, blurring the world.
“Come on,” said Risa. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me under the Nature Center awning. She’d been smart enough to wear a baseball hat. “You’ll get soaked,” she said.
“How can he really not care?” I said. “A whooping crane, you know?” I shivered.
“Do you want another sweatshirt?” Risa said.
“Your other one is inside. I brought it back to give to you. But I guess I’ll just put it on again.”
“Girls, the second Birdscout troop is here,” Jerry said from inside the Center. “Well, a couple of ’em anyway. Take ’em out.”
“Yes, Jerry,” I said as I leaned inside the door to grab Risa’s sweatshirt and two garbage bags for makeshift ponchos, handing one to Risa. Bill Andrews and Michael Ross still stood in the rain, talking. I couldn’t pay much attention to them, since I had birds to count and Risa’s clothing once again on my body.
“You even look good in a garbage bag,” I said.
“You too,” she said.
The ridiculous thing was that I had meant what I said. The even more ridiculous thing was that it seemed like she meant it, too.
Risa’s shift ended one troop of birders earlier than mine, so I didn’t get to say goodbye. It was just as well.
The rain let up, so I was able to bike over to the hospital to see Gran without wiping out in a puddle. There greeted me the same acrid, antiseptic floor. Same stiff white sheets, same glowing, beeping pauses. Everything that Gran shouldn’t be and so completely was, barely tethered to life.
“Gran,” I said. “Surely you aren’t a blue jay, right? Maybe blue was your favorite color. You wore a lot of it. But I just thought that was because of your eyes.”
Twitch.
“You liked purple or green more, though. The colors of your name, you said. The aurora borealis? The northern lights? Waves of green across the sky. You saw a snowy owl and a king eider in Greenland. And then at night the aurora came. You said you’d take me to see it. You have to wait, Gran. You have to stick around to show me the aurora.”
Tiny shudder.
I sighed and sat down next to her. I turned on her TV and adjusted the volume on the speaker attached to a moveable call button on her bed. I flipped idly to the Discovery Channel, but didn’t want to watch the scary fishing show. I landed on Channel Four just as the opening music to the five o’clock news chimed from Gran’s speaker.
Bill Andrews and another anchor talked about sewer lines and a house fire not far from my house. A commercial came on for soup and my stomach growled. I thought about heading home early for dinner. Mom would surely be out with Brad. The benefit of this was that since they ate out so much, there were generally pretty good leftovers to steal in the fridge.
“Gran, do you want the TV on?” I tried.
Nothing.
I fumbled with Gran’s speaker thing to turn down the sound. When the news came back from commercial, though, the second anchor looked into the camera and said, “Tonight, we have a special report from our own Bill Andrews.”
“Thanks, Gail. It’s the annual Western PA bird count weekend, and there is some controversy taking flight.”
Oh, Bill Andrews. Bird puns. This could be promising or a portent of bad things.
His camerawoman got Elder Oak at a good angle and must have followed some birders when I wasn’t watching because she got a great shot of Grandma Maple as well.
“We want what’s best for the community. We want jobs. We want education…,” he started. The face of Michael Ross cut off Grandma Maple’s screen time.
“There has been some resistance to proposed plans to place the
unified school district at the site of the Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood Nature Sanctuary. But development of the city-owned land would save taxpayer dollars while creating sorely needed employment opportunities,” said the deputy mayor. “We learned last night that Shunksville was picked by the committee as the site for the new school. We’ve gathered bids preemptively and are confident that the special July city council session will see our proposals pass.”
My mouth dropped when they cut back to Bill Andrews in the studio. WTF?
“This sounds like a great opportunity for Shunksville,” said one anchor. “Why are people opposed to it?”
“Because it will sacrifice an important ecological site,” said Bill Andrews.
“But it’s not like Pennsylvania lacks for trees,” the other anchor said with a laugh. “Just ask my husband in fall, when he has to rake all the leaves.”
Bill Andrews agreed, laughed, and they went to commercial.
I stared at the screen. No Karen, no Jerry, no birders. Just the deputy mayor. Bill Andrews, how could you? I felt betrayed. He had the documents, he knew this was a bad idea, and he chose not to say it?
“Gran, you liked that guy?” I said.
Surely my imagination chose to play tricks then, but Gran looked kind of pissed.
“I can’t believe this shit,” I said.
I rode home to my empty house, where I wolfed down some spicy chicken pasta from a Styrofoam container. I didn’t even bother heating it up. I called Risa, but she didn’t pick up. I texted Sophie.
You are not going to BELIEVE what is going on, I typed.
Sophie called. “Hey! I’m on break and have reception for once.”
I kind of shouted the weeks’ events she’d missed. “I’m blacklisted from city hall! Bill Andrews is a dirty traitor to the man! No one cares about whooping cranes except Jerry and Risa!” I finished.
“Could we go back to the part where you told Risa you wanted her arms around you?”
“That’s not the point here, Soph.”
“I think it should be. We were aware of the government corruption and their lack of regard for the environment. What is surprising is the fact that Risa didn’t destroy your work and that maybe she is gonna be your lady friend. Is she your woman? Are you going to kiss her? I hooked up with another guy here. He’s into woodworking.”
“There’s a lot I could say about that. But no, listen, Bill Andrews…”
“Laurel, you listen to me. Go find another reporter. Someone will listen to you. You printed documents. You have a folder. There are plenty of newspeople who would be all over that shit. Call Rachel Maddow.”
“Who is Rachel Maddow?”
“She’s on at night. My parents watch her. National cable news.”
“I don’t think this is exactly national news. Yet.” It probably could be if Jerry had seen Bill Andrews’s report. His head might have exploded.
“Well, how about that chick who was in the park that day? Ellie, something.”
“Yeah. True,” I said. My phone buzzed. Risa was texting, too.
“The woman is texting,” I said.
“Good. You need to get some. This will chill you out,” she said.
“Your priorities are so out of whack right now,” I said.
“You can save the world and still make out with a hot girl, is all I’m saying,” said Sophie. “Also, send me your lightning bird pictures. They sound cool.”
“I hate you,” I said.
“Love you, too. Bye.” She hung up.
You called? Risa had sent.
Did you see the news? I said.
No! Was Jerry on?
Nope. Bill Andrews is a dick. We need to regroup.
Okay. Home stuff tonight. See you tomorrow?
I stared at my screen. I wondered if I should say something about home stuff, since I knew it wasn’t that great.
How are you? Anything I can do? That seemed safe. Thank the herons I hadn’t called or I probably would have complimented her boobs or something.
Don’t strangle Bill Andrews. Until tomorrow anyway. She ended with a heart.
We were in heart territory? What did that mean?
It’s an emoji, Laurel. Keep it together.
Still.
A heart isn’t something to give to another person lightly.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 23
The bird counts were flowing, and we pulled ahead of the Pittsburgh region by a nose.
Again. I knew it really wasn’t a competition of numbers.
But if we were going to record the most birds, this should be the year. It legitimized the fight to save the land.
I stopped at the grocery store before heading into the Nature Center. My elusive mother had texted and asked me to get food to feed myself. She’d left money on the counter. Spending time with Brad and Gran left her little time for me, which suited me. She’d sold Gran’s damn house and, I mean, Brad. He’d lasted longer than any other of the recent dudes, but that wasn’t saying much.
I spotted Mom’s preferred brand of nine grain and snagged the last bag on the shelf.
I walked down the next aisle. Two women stood talking quietly next to my heavenly chocolate wheat squares.
“Pardon me,” I said. They glanced at me and moved over a fraction of an inch. That was a little weird, but it was early and maybe the cereal they wanted hadn’t been stocked. I went to the counter and the woman who has worked there since the dawn of time checked me out. I handed her my money. She took it and looked at me. She rolled her tongue around in her mouth.
“You know,” she said, the cash drawer shuttering open. “Mill’s been gone from this place for a decade.”
“Um. Yes,” I said. Everyone knew that.
“Blooms gone, too,” she said. That was the food manufacturing plant that’d shut down a few years ago.
“Yes,” I said.
“The way I see it, bringing in a couple of schools with all those kids is a good thing. No matter where they put it. Lots of jobs with new schools.”
“Uh…” I didn’t know if that was true. It seemed like the teachers who already had jobs in the individual schools would come here. Or other staff. And teachers needed training to be teachers. Who else would get jobs? Janitors maybe? And how many of those would the schools really need?
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to stop jobs.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t really know what you are talking about,” I said.
“You were on the news. With them people at the woods.”
“I was?” I wondered if Bill Andrews had been on the air at eleven on Thursday. Or if he’d reported it again yesterday. Maybe he had a different report with different footage. I had tried not to be in any shots, but I might have been in a couple with Jerry.
“You are easy to spot. Your gran was always real nice to me. Bringing you here since you were a little girl. And your mom. She’s a teacher. This is good for her. You shouldn’t go poking your nose into stuff like that.”
“Okay,” I said. I took my change and groceries and got the hell out of there as fast as possible.
I stopped at home and shoved everything into the refrigerator. I rode over to the Nature Center. Risa had gone to see Ellie King of Channel Eight yesterday on her day off. Given her our folder of all the documents. Hopefully she would be less of a dick than Bill Andrews.
“Hey there,” said Risa, coming over to the bike rack. “Major drama.”
“What? Bird-related?”
“Kinda. We have protestors.”
“Protestors? Are they loud? They better not piss off the swans. No one wants that.”
“You’ll see.”
We walked away from the gate to Elder Oak, where a few people were gathered with signs. “Schools mean jobs,” one read. “Education > Preservation,” read another.
“What is even happening?” I said.
Richard and Louise stood talking with two of the men with signs.
“Education a
nd preservation aren’t mutually exclusive things,” said Richard.
“Isn’t preservation essential so that children have a world in which to live?” said Louise.
“Yinz don’t know what’s even going on here. It’s bigger than you know. There are union contracts at stake. People high up want this and they are going to get it. Birds don’t live in one place. They fly all over,” said a woman.
“Risa,” I whispered. “What is this?”
“Last night. Apparently our governor earmarked this project for Shunksville because some of his donors are from around here? And they are connected to other donors who might fund him to run for president one day? And our mayor and deputy mayor are his friends. Richard and Louise and Jerry were kind of shouting it in the Center before all these people arrived. It’s scaring the unschoolers.”
“Damn it, we need their numbers,” I said. “It’s a four-day average!”
“There were three red-bellied woodpeckers. Or one that people saw three times. Hard to tell.”
“Oh good,” I said. Damn it, the squirrels had probably eaten all of Gran’s suet again. I’d have to fix that tomorrow.
“Jobs, not ducks! Jobs, not ducks!” the group stared chanting. They formed a line and started marching around Elder Oak.
“This is the saddest, stupidest protest I’ve ever seen,” said Richard, walking over to us.
“They can go duck themselves,” muttered Jerry.
“If they try to chain themselves to Elder Oak, his spirit will eat them,” said Louise.
“What did the news say?” I said.
“Well, they showed Jerry. But they edited him to make it sound like he was against any new school anywhere. And anti-Shunksville. Bill Andrews cut to himself saying how we haven’t had development here for years. And this is our chance to be back in the game.”
“We’re regional. They get these broadcasts in Martinsville and Richburg. What are they saying?” Risa said.
“They apparently don’t have an in with Bill Andrews,” said Louise.
A dad with three little boys walked toward us from the gate. All four of them looked at the protestors stumbling around Elder Oak’s roots, yelling about jobs. The smallest boy started to cry and buried his face in his dad’s pant leg. The dad looked down at his boys, then at the protestors, and ushered the kids back to the gate.
The Confusion of Laurel Graham Page 17
